


Dr. Victre

by AramsayiPregius



Series: Dr. Victre [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen, Xenobiology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10053419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AramsayiPregius/pseuds/AramsayiPregius
Summary: A doctor on Stygeon Prime gets a surprise when a new order of Imperials set up base on the remote outpost she is assigned to. The more she learns about this mysterious group of non-humans, the more questions she has for them; questions they would rather not answer.





	1. Introduction

Lysa Victre’s day began in the usual manner. Her whirring alarm went off exactly 2:00 hours before the All-Personnel wake up call, which was just as well. She hated the way that alarm jolted her from even the deepest slumber, leaving her heart pounding in her chest. She was no soldier- she was not cut out for such anxieties.

Since joining the Imperial Medic Division, her morning routine had been streamlined to the utmost efficiency, which she liked. Her sonic showers were brief yet effective. She had a white uniform to indicate her surgeon status, which was always disinfected, pressed, and waiting in her closet for her each new day. She slipped into her rather utilitarian black boots, appreciating how they added some height to her diminutive frame. She pulled back her dark brown hair into a tight ponytail, slid her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and the whole ordeal was done in a matter of ten minutes. That left plenty of time to set up and get to her real passions.

The commissary was not open yet, so she brought with her a nutrient bar and consumed it in the elevator as she traveled to one of the highest levels of the Spire. Her clinic was small, staffed only by herself and one rather old 2-1B Surgical Droid she called Tewbee, as this remote base was unlikely to see combat. Most of her duties were routine health checks, vaccinations, and the occasional minor illness. Though the Imperial Medical Academy had cleared her for far more complex operations, she enjoyed the relative ease of her station. 

After all, she did not set out to be a doctor of any kind; she was simply a biologist. One who was hell-bent on seeing the far reaches of the galaxy, and service through the Empire’s Medical division seemed like the perfect place to start. Admittedly, Stygeon Prime was not the rich biological paradise she had hoped for, but it’s remoteness allowed her ample free time to observe the few wild species that did roam the planet- species which were largely undescribed to science. 

She longed to get out to the planet’s icy surface herself, but she was not cleared to leave the Spire due to the dangerous terrain. Instead, she had to rely on the two Viper Probe Droids whose cameras and controls she had access to. She nicknamed them Cerastes and Crotalus, and every morning after waking up Tewbee from sleep mode and setting up the clinic, she would settle in with her caf and flick through their previous recordings.

Datapad in hand for notes, she scoured through blurred images, listened to garbled audio, and wrote down the time and date of any confirmed wildlife sightings, along with a description of the creature and what it was doing. So far, her most complete notes had been on the Tibidees, giant flying rays which were common upon this planet and a few others. She only ever sighted individuals with claspers- presumably males- in flight, which led her to believe the females were stationary, similar to bag moths on her home world of Corellia. She kept Crotalus pointed at the cliffs, hoping one day she would catch a female member of the species on her monitors to prove her hypothesis.

Today it seemed, would not be that day. 

“Dr. Victre?” Tewbee called for her attention.  


Lysa closed her monitors down, turning to the droid. “Yes Tewbee, what is it?”

“It looks like we have a new group of operatives moving to base today,” the mechanical voice continued.

“Okay, great. Can you send me their medical records so that I can look over them and get them registered in our system?”  


“That’s just it, Dr. Victre. I’m afraid they have no previous medical records.”  


_Curious_. Lysa tilted her head. “New recruits, then?”

“It does not appear so. They have various intake dates, beginning at 10 years ago.”  


“Ten years? So they have been serving since the beginning of the Empire, and yet they have no medical records at all?”  


“That would be correct, doctor.”  


This was a troubling development to say the least. _They must be so far behind on their vaccines_ , Lysa thought. 

“Tewbee, can you send me whatever information we do have on them?” she asked.  


The surgical droid bowed his head and Lysa’s datapad lit up. She scanned though the list, then furrowed her brow, her mouth drooping open. 

“This isn’t a list of new patients, this is just a bunch of titles and service dates! There are no names, no ages, no homeworlds, nothing! There is no information given in any category!” She ranted in frustration.  


“This information is considered highly classified, Dr. Victre.”  


“I don’t care how classified they are! They have moved onto this base, and they have become _my_ patients. Am I going to allow the health of any personnel in the Spire suffer because a group of no-names come in and refuse to get their Gandian Flu shot? I don’t think so!”  


“Of course,” the droid sounded as resigned as his programming would allow him to, and Lysa felt rather apologetic.  


Softening her tone, she asked, “well, Tewbee... Do you think perhaps you could handle the regular checkups today?”  


Tewbee whirred through the daily appointment list, turned, and nodded.

“Good. Then clear my schedule. Looks like I have twelve new consultations to get through today.”  


“Shall I inform your new patients that they are report in to the Medical Clinic?”

“Absolutely,” Lysa sat back down in her chair and swallowed the last of her caf. “When the wake up call comes, that is. Until then, you just rest your circuits. We’ve both got a long, long day ahead of us.”


	2. Chapter 1

“ _Excuse me_?”  


The courier trembled in front of the towering grey alien man before him, the likes of which he had never seen. Apparently his news had not been received well.

“You- and your unit- have orders to report to the medical bay for health evaluations,” he repeated, clinging tight to his datapad.  


The Grand Inquisitor narrowed his piercing yellow eyes, hoping the small man would go away. Evidently a scowl was not enough for this one. No matter, in time he would learn, as would everyone on this isolated prison- the new base of Inquisitorius operations.

“Whose orders?” He asked, cooly.  


The courier straightened his posture. “Dr. Victre, sir. The lead surgeon on base. In charge of all personnel’s health.”

 _So no one of consequence_. “Rescind that order. We aren’t going.” It would take time to set up quarters, move supplies, create a training area, and most importantly, set up their new experimental beacon. All of which were more pressing matters than ‘health evaluations’.  


For some reason, the courier continued to stand there, until the Grand Inquisitor turned to look at him over his shoulder. 

“We’re done,” he stated. At last, the little man took the hint.

“Right, of course, sir. I will let her know.” He scurried off, out of the room, leaving the Pau’an in isolation within his new office. It was dark, and bleak; thus it suited his meditation. Or would, when he had the time for such things.  


For now, it was time to return to the loading bay, and see to it that all precious cargo made it to the appropriate destinations. 

Everything was going according to plan. As the new highest-ranking Imperial in the prison, he was determined to turn this obscure and useless outpost into an efficient trap for the few Jedi that still eluded capture. Of course, that meant that new cells would have to be built, since the older blocks had been converted to bunks, armories, and other living spaces after the end of the Clone Wars and the escape of the Separatist’s only prisoner there.

Judging by the leisurely pace at which the troopers were moving, they were not used to much work, so construction might take extra motivation. He took his lightsaber of the mount on his back, palming it in his hands. He had no intentions of using it on them, but perhaps a flash or two would increase their steps.

He turned to the troop commander on his left, watching him closely as he stood back, slouched, watching the others work. The Inquisitor approached quietly, making the commander jolt when he spoke.

“What is your designation, commander?”  


The trooper cleared his throat. “ST-118, sir.”

“Well then, ST-118, are these all the men you have at your disposal right now?”  


“Yes, sir. These are all available units not on patrol.”  


The Grand Inquisitor raised his brows. “How many troopers are there on base in total, then?”

“Forty, sir.”  


Only forty troopers for such a vast prison. He would have to rectify that as well.

“Very well. See to it that these men pick up the pace. I want everything offloaded by 13:00. And commander, don’t let me catch you slouching again.”  


ST-118 straightened. “Right away, sir!”

 _At least he was quick to give orders_. The Grand Inquisitor lifted his chin, and then caught a glimpse of the Second Sister, the one he had tasked with acquiring the components of his experimental beacon project.

“Grand Inquisitor,” she began.  


“Second Sister. What is the progress on obtaining the beacon?”  


She grimaced. “It would appear that approval from the Chief Medical Officer on base is required to retrieve items from the morgue.”

He bared his teeth in frustration. “Well then. What about the other components?”

“Taken care of.” She said, her eyes flicking briefly behind him.

“Sir?” A clearly uneasy voice spoke out.  


He looked over his shoulder, somewhat surprised to see the courier again.

“Can’t you see that I am in the middle of a conversation?” The Grand Inquisitor’s voice was cold.

“Yes, sir- It’s just that-”

“Well then, it can wait until I am finished.”

“But sir- I’m afraid that you and your unit have been placed under mandatory quarantine until your health examinations are completed-”

The Inquisitor stopped and turned slowly to face him. The Second Sister slowly stepped back, but he held out his hand for her datapad.

“Was it this same doctor as before, giving this order?”  


The courier hurriedly nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And would this same doctor happen to be the-” He glanced down at the acquisition form. “-Chief Medical Officer?”  


“Why, yes, sir.”  


He narrowed his eyes. It was time to take care of at least one problem. “Would you escort me to the medical bay at once?”

“Of course, right this way, sir!”  


He briefly gave new orders for the Second Sister to aid in the unboxing efforts, and followed the rather fidgety courier into an elevator to the 36th level of the Spire.

* * *

The clinic itself was not a large space, the Grand Inquisitor observed. The waiting area held only an instant caf machine and three chairs, which were occupied by two petty officers and one trooper with his helmet off, all of which seemed to stiffen at his arrival.

“Thank you, you may go-” he trailed off, waiting for the courier to fill in his name.  


“Gatz, sir.”  


“Mr. Gatz. Very well, you are dismissed.”  


He seemed rather relieved from the notion, nearly dashing out of the room. 

Another rapid look around yielded a glimpse of a small service button near a sliding window. The Inquisitor paced deliberately across the room, lightly pressing the button until it glowed.

With lightning speed, the window lifted to reveal a Clone Wars era 2-1B surgical droid, which acknowledged him with a mechanical buzz before pressing a page button and quickly shutting the window once more.

He heard a shuffling noise from behind the wall, and a few seconds later a panel slid open, revealing a minuscule woman in immaculate white dress, hair pulled tight behind her head. She looked him over once and lit up with surprise, but was without even a slightest hint of the fear that he was used to.

“Hello-” She started, overly enthusiastic.  


“You must be Dr. Victory,” the Inquisitor began, still rather irritated.  


“-Dr. Victre, common mistake,” she corrected, reaching out her hand, “and you must be…”  


He glared at it until her arm slowly sank back to her side. “The Grand Inquisitor.”

“Ah, yes, the Grand Inquisitor.” Dr. Victre pulled her datapad from her coat pocket, sliding away the pre-made medical form and bringing up a blank template. The human-biased questions would do him no good. This day would prove to be relevant to her interests after all.  


“If you would please follow me inside, Grand Inquisitor,” she motioned through the door, but he stood firm. Lysa started feeling the heat from her frustration rising to her face.  


“I have forms that require your signature, so that I may return to my important work down below.” He glowered, handing her the acquisition forms, though she still showed no signs of a fear response.  


Lysa looked over the forms, her brows furrowing at the request. When she got to the contents to be removed...

 “We would have more privacy if we stepped inside, I have some serious questions about this.”

“Unfortunately you are not at liberty to ask. I simply require your signature.” The edge of his lip raised slightly, baring his teeth.  


“And you will have it, sir.” She appeared to be quite flustered. “But there are- preservation issues- that must be discussed!”  


The Grand Inquisitor was displeased with her tone. This Dr. Victre was insolent, there was no doubt, _but if her concerns about the beacon were legitimate…_

“Very well.” He shifted, then sternly motioned for her to lead the way inside.

Dr. Victre led him down a tight hallway, through a doorframe he had to duck to pass under, and into a finely sterilized operating room.  

“Please, have a seat.” She frowned as she looked once more over the documents, and placed them down.  


He continued to stand as he paced around the room, gazing fiercely over every meticulously labeled drawer and exposed piece of equipment. Everything had clearly been laboriously hand-organized, arranged to be within the arm’s reach of the slight-framed doctor. 

“You may not ask what this is for, nor how it came to be here,” he stated.  


She lifted her hands. The whole request was absurd, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Believe me, I have no desire to know the answer to those questions. A small curiosity maybe, but one I will willfully ignore. Nor did I even know this- item- you have requested was even under my safe keeping!”

“Please get to the point.” He crossed his arms. “My time is rather valuable.”  


She sighed, her entire body deflating. “Of course. I’m afraid mine is not nearly so valuable as my signature though. I will sign on two conditions: one being that you change your method of storage to an airtight cryo-coffin to prevent the spread of pathogens, and the other is that you consent to a health check, and health checks for the rest of your unit.”

He scowled. She had done _enough_ to push back his project already. “The method of storage of the asset may be changed, but the rest of your request is completely unacceptable. We will not halt our progress for something so trivial as health examinations. And I would dissuade you from pressing the matter further, unless you wish to face disciplinary action.”

Dr. Victre took a deep breath, slowly pushing her glasses back to the bridge of her nose. “Respectfully, sir. I recognize you now have higher authority over this base, but I have sworn an oath to ensure the utmost health and well being of all occupants wherever I am stationed. Allowing individuals with no previous vaccination records, who have been traveling to classified locations throughout the galaxy, and refuse to be checked for any signs of illness to move freely around the base poses a serious health threat to the personnel stationed here. And in turn, is a risk to your own project deadlines and your own unit as well.”

The Inquisitor paused, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. He had not been expecting a response at all, but this doctor was the boldest and perhaps most dutiful Imperial he had encountered on Stygeon Prime yet. Although he disliked to admit it, her logic was also quite sound. After a long, tense moment, he finally responded.

“Fine. We will consent. Just get them done quickly.” He reclined uneasily on the operating table, which was too short to accommodate his entire body length.   


Dr. Victre very nearly cracked a smile. Relieved that her relentlessness paid off, she picked up her own datapad once more and set to work, examining his features.

“You are Pau’an, yes?” She asked, though she was quite certain.  


He nodded, staring at the ceiling in annoyance.

“Forgive me, I’m afraid my knowledge in your species is quite lacking, though I’ve heard you have rather impressive hearing. And it appears- I’m sorry, would you open your mouth again?”  


He unintentionally gaped in surprise at the inquiry, but it seemed to be enough time for her to peer inside and type in a note. “Your dentition suggests you are an obligate carnivore, is this so?”

“Yes.”   


Lysa Victre grinned. Always good to be reaffirmed. It had been such a long time since she was actually able to apply any of her vast comparative anatomical knowledge.

“I’m aware some of these questions may seem tedious,” she continued, pressing down a few buttons on a console attached to the scanner arm of the table, “but I will try to do enough research on my own in the meantime to keep them to a minimum. Believe me, you could not be in better hands. The Empire may only teach human medicine, but I spent many years at my old university learning much more.”  


He raised a brow.

“Ohh, do try to be still for this,” she requested, moving the scanning arm into place. “I’ll have to look up which vaccines are safe to administer on your species, but a scan will allow me to rapidly assess your health for now. In the meantime, try to avoid anyone showing signs of the Gona Virus. Spreads rapidly in mammalian hosts trapped in close quarters.”

“How did you know that I am mammalian?” The Inquisitor asked, testing her assumptions.  


“Ah, it was your teeth. Only mammals can have carnassials.”   


Well, whatever her methods, she did seem knowledgeable.  _Which might prove handy, given the composition of the Inquisitorius. It might do well to keep her in place here_ , the Grand Inquisitor thought. Though her behavior would require some adjustment.

She continued to fill the silence while the scanner proceeded. The prospect of looking over his scans was honestly- _thrilling_. Her mind raced with questions. “I’ll be interested to see what this reveals about the structure of your brain as well. Your cranium suggests an enlargement of the prefrontal cortex, which would enhance your planning and decision making processes, but I should also expect that to have enhanced hearing you would need a larger auditory processing center in your auxiliary cortex. Though I wonder, if the cerebrum mass is increased, does it follow that you have an increased mass to your cerebellum which allows higher level coordination of activities? This is all relative to humans, of course…”

“Are you always this thorough?” He asked, getting rather impatient. Her banter was flattering, but not quite enough to make up for his annoyance with her earlier mannerisms.  


“In truth? No. My other patients do not quite spark my curiosity. Human anatomy is second nature. It’s not every day I get to examine someone from an Outer Rim world such as yours. Not much is ever published that makes it into Core university libraries. Certainly not to the Imperial Medical Academy.”  


Dr. Victre stepped away to pick up her third cup of caf as the scan finished and began processing. 

The Grand Inquisitor sat up. This was an odd little woman, standing before him. “Are we done yet?”

“Nearly.” She raised her cup to her lips, looking over the lip of her mug to her monitor as his image appeared- and immediately spraying the caf in her mouth back into her mug.  


“What is it?” The Inquisitor asked, uncomfortable.  


Lysa grabbed a tissue to clean her face, embarrassed by her outburst.

“You wouldn’t happen to be experiencing any gastrointestinal discomfort, would you?”  


He shifted slightly at the brunt question. “Perhaps. Why?”

“Are you by any chance consuming the standard diet?” She enlarged the screen to project upon the whole wall.  


“Yes…” He responded, unsure at what she was getting at. “I was told it contained all the nutrients I would require.”  


“Well, I’m going to have to call up the commissary here and get new meals ordered for you- or something. See all this dark mass?” She pointed to the clumped matter built up in his intestines. 

“The standard nutritional supplement is sufficient, for humans. Not that it doesn’t have all that you need in it, but you see- it is made from plant material because it is easier to produce. Looking at your digestive system, you are built to be a true carnivore. You have no sacculation in your stomach or intestine, and I see no evidence of a caecum. Simply put, your body has no mechanism to break this down, and your nutrient absorption must also be inefficient at best.”  


“Well then…” He started.  


“Don’t worry- here- I can at least put a temporary fix on things. Just one moment.”  


She began typing away at her computer station, leaving him sitting there. Her usefulness was starting to become clear. Perhaps this was not a complete waste of his time after all.

“I have an infusion that should be safe for you. Be sure to take it before bed. It will most definitely clear your system. I will order an altered supplement for you, as promised, but until then, you’re going to have to continue on the standard diet. Only, I’m going to give the boys at commissary some of the transfusion blood that is set to expire soon. We rarely see combat here and I end up throwing it out every month anyways. It won’t help your other problems, but at least you’ll get some of the nutrition you need back. Perhaps it will enhance your absorption as well.”  


He nodded in agreement, eyeing her closely as she typed an entry into her cabinet and it opened to reveal several med packs which she wrapped up and proceeded to hand to him. 

“Remember: before bed. Any other questions or concerns?”  


The Grand Inquisitor took the parcel from her hands without making contact with them. “The acquisition forms.” 

“Right!” Dr. Victre hurried over, signing away. “I hope this encounter makes up for my behavior earlier, I was simply trying to stress the importance of-”  


“It is done.” He was quick to stop her. “Though I would avoid speaking to Grand Moff Tarkin in that manner.”  


“Of course. I have been… Warned as much before.”  


The Inquisitor allowed himself a lapse of curiosity. “Is that how you ended up on this isolated base?” He had a hard time imagining her implacable manner got her very far within the Imperial Military system.  


“Ah- I prefer to think it is due to my lack of experience.”  


Her age. He hadn’t even considered it before, but she did seem rather young to be in the position of a surgeon, even with her apparent aptitude.

“Exactly how old are you?”  


“Twenty-four, sir,” she responded with more than a hint of pride.  


“Indeed.” It was remarkably young, but he stifled his surprise. “Then I will choose to equate your insubordination earlier as an err of your youth. You had best not speak to me in that manner again.”  


“Yes, sir!” She stood as tall as she could given the petite nature of her frame, and handed over the datapad. “And I will be ready to receive whomever you choose to send up next.”  


The Grand Inquisitor turned towards the exit, the forms in hand enabling massive strides towards his ultimate ends for this once formidable prison. 

“Good day, Dr. Victre,” he managed.  


“To you as well, Grand Inquisitor.”   


The exit panel practically slammed shut, echoing through the operating room as Dr. Victre sat down, taking another close look at the scan results in front of her. She began jotting down notes instantly- first impressions, unique features, anything that she could identify, and structures of note. 

For once, she had something more interesting than blurry photographs of Tibidees to occupy her time, and she was going to take full advantage of her brand-new opportunity.


	3. Chapter 2

Dr. Lysa Victre scanned one more time through her computer’s species database.

“Right, could you say that for me one more time?”  


The Fifth Brother huffed, rolling his eyes. “Nylotican. From the planet Nylos.”

She put a hand over her face, idly pinching her lower lip. “This is highly irregular,” she mumbled.

“What is?”  


“Your species, as you named it, is not in my database. Nor is there a group which lists all of the characteristics you seem to exhibit.”  


She stood, pacing back over to the operating table. Her head was light with the euphoria, though she tried not to get her hopes up. Perhaps a DNA analysis was due. Or maybe one more look at his features.

“Could you blink for me, slowly?” she asked.  


The Fifth Brother stared at her with his arms crossed, but did as requested.

“Nictitating membranes, yes, that’s what I thought… What about your teeth, can you open up for me?”  


“What is this abou-”  


She caught his mouth and held it open, thoroughly counting and examining the shape of his teeth once more. _All the same, seemingly imbedded within the jaw_. “Homodont dentition. Appears to be thecodont as well. Do you know if your teeth replace themselves if lost?”

“Ahhh - yaaah?” he replied, his mouth still held open by the strange woman his fellow Inquisitors had been telling him about. Very interesting, she was.  


“Ohh, sorry!” She let go of his jaw, returning to her computer and giving more inputs, trying to tease out a response. “There could be several reasons why you aren’t listed,” she tried to reason, “perhaps your species has a name for itself which is different from the database’s records, or maybe someone made a mistake entering in characteristics…”  


“Or perhaps _you_ made a mistake,” he suggested.  


“Unlikely,” she mused, the corner of her mouth curling up, “however it is also a possibility that your species isn’t described in Core World records. Tell me, how does _Nyloticus quintumfratremi_ sound?”  


“I have no idea what you are talking about,” the Fifth Brother answered, ready to be done with all this poking and prodding.   


She sighed in response. “That’s alright, if I hold you any longer I’m liable to get in trouble with our mutual superior anyways. I’ll just take a small tissue sample. That and your scan should be able to give me what I need… for a bit.”

She grabbed the small excision tool while the Fifth Brother instinctively braced himself, covering his arm. 

“Ohh,” Lysa put down the tool for a moment, looking at the exposed place on his upper arm. “Your skin is peeling. Let me have a look.”  


She extended a hand, and the Fifth Brother hesitated before offering his limb.

“Is Nylos a moist planet?” she asked, inspecting the dried and flaking tissue.  


“Yes,” he offered, eyeing her, “like a swamp.”

“Hmm… Well the cold air here doesn’t hold much moisture.” She looked around, then located the trial packets she was looking for. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure if you’re more amphibian or more reptile, so I’m playing it safe. This cream is safe for use on Chagrians, so it should work for you.”

She lightly dabbed the surface of the skin irritation with the moisturizer, watching closely for a reaction. “I would keep a close eye on this patch. If you don’t experience any irritation, then come back to me for more. I’ll give you some samples in the meantime though. And perhaps you might want to consider adding sleeves to your uniform. The less your skin is exposed to the dry air here, the better.”

The Fifth Brother tilted his head back as he eased up some. “I uh - thank you, doctor.”   


“Of course! It’s no problem,” Lysa laughed a little, “it’s my job to keep you healthy, and skin care is a big part of that. Now, about that tissue sample -”  


The sound of the sliding door cut her off, as she looked up to see Tewbee marching in.

“Dr. Victre, the Grand Inquisitor is here to speak to you,” the droid reported.  


“Ah,” she sucked in a breath through her teeth, “I’m in the middle of an examination, but…”  


“He is most insistent that you see him.”  


The doctor slowly peeled off her rubber gloves. “Yes I assumed that might be the case… Tewbee, if you would please, excise a small tissue sample from this patient and perform a full body scan. I’ll be back when I can.”

“Be careful,” the Fifth Brother warned with a hint of a smirk, “I don’t think he likes you very much.”  


“I would tend to agree with that assessment,” Tewbee chimed in.  


“Okay, you two, enough of that. I’ll be fine,” Lysa said, hurrying out to the service window. Once there, she pressed the button and the panel lifted, revealing the stern-faced Pau’an.   


“Grand Inquisitor, sir, how may I help you?” she asked, hoping today he was feeling at least slightly more amiable.  


“These examinations are taking far too long,” he grumbled.  


“Well, yes, they are taking longer than I had anticipated… Each of you requires very individualized care, which I hadn’t originally accounted for in my time estimations.”  


“Individualized care. Because we are not humans.”

“Why, yes. It isn’t a problem or anything,” Dr. Victre shrugged, “but unfortunately every chart and diagram I have assumes a human physiology, which you all just don’t-”  


“-Enough,” he cut her off, “that is not why I am here. I need you to explain this.”  


He slapped a datapad down onto the counter with more force than he intended, the sudden sound jolting Lysa’s body and making her chest tight. It took her a second to ease away the tension so she could breathe again. The Inquisitor noted her flinch with a raised brow, but said nothing.

“This is a schedule,” she explained, still a little shaken, “the Third Brother’s, it looks like. Is… there a problem?”  


“What are these three hour slots in the UV chambers for?” he asked, staring intently at her.  


“Well,” Dr. Victre began, “we don’t get much sunlight here on Stygeon Prime, but it is still necessary for proper neurological health and vitamin uptake, so he needs to spend some time in the chambers just like the humans here do.”  


“Neither I nor the First or Second have this on their schedule…”  


Dr. Victre shook her head. “No, both the Chiss and Pau’an dwell underground naturally, so it is not necessary for you three.”

The Grand Inquisitor stood on the other side of the window, looking her over. 

“…Are you unaware that Pau’an live underground?” she gaped.  


“-No! Of course I knew that!” he spat quickly, then smoothed his uniform back down.  


“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” Lysa said, noticing his discomfort. “You’re from Coruscant, aren’t you? You have the accent.”  


The Inquisitor frowned deeply. Something about him was just suddenly colder and darker to her. 

“You had best stay in your own affairs, Dr. Victre.”

She shuddered, though she couldn’t tell if it was his tone or his demeanor that bothered her. “Right. I… should probably get back to my examination…”

“Yes you should,” he hissed.  


Lysa slid the datapad back to his side of the counter, and nearly pushed the button to close the window, but had one last concern.

“You will tell me if that medication works for you, right? And when? It’s very important. I need to get a baseline for which dosages are appropriate for you.”  


His teeth were bared. “I will let you know.”

“Okay, thank you. Have a nice day,” she spoke softly, then shut the window, slinking into the nearest chair with a heavy sigh. 

There was something incredibly off about the encounter, beyond the efficiency and the stubbornness she had come to expect from her new superior. Questioning his home and accent had made him downright dangerous. She made a note not to bring up Coruscant again.  


When Dr. Victre returned to the room, the Fifth Brother could tell she had been shaken. Something about her presence gave off the impression of someone who was deeply unsettled. He almost didn’t notice the prick of the tissue sample being removed from his arm.

“Good work, Tewbee,” she said at last, “I can take it from here.”  


“I have completed the tissue extraction and scan, just as asked,” the droid replied.

The doctor nodded. “Of course. I think I’ll do some blood work too, just in case. In fact, put down an order for all Inquisitors to get blood drawn on their next visit. I should work on setting up an appropriate bank; it could be very handy.”  


Tewbee beeped once in affirmation. “Noted, Dr. Victre.”

“Great, now if you will excuse us, I will finish this exam and move on to the Sixth Brother-”  


“-Seventh Sister,” the Fifth Brother corrected. “The Sixth Brother was killed long ago.”  


“Oh, I’m sorry…” Dr. Victre trailed off. “I didn’t realize- He was not listed as deceased on my charts. But of course, there wasn’t much information on them to begin with.”  


The Fifth’s expression did not change. “That’s alright. It’s not as if… well, you may have noticed that we don’t exactly get along within the Inquisitorius. We aren’t here to make friends.”  


“A pity. I couldn’t imagine not being at all friendly with my teammates. If it weren’t for Tewbee and my patients, I think I would have gone mad by now,” Dr. Victre joked, tying a band around the Fifth Brother’s rather muscular arms.  


The Fifth Brother suppressed a laugh. “The way they describe you, you may already be a bit mad.”

“Well, I can’t help it, really. You’re all just so different to me. You make me curious, and I mean that not just from a biology standpoint- no. You all must have some incredible tales! I want to know where all of you are from, what it’s like there, how you came to be a part of the Empire, what worlds you have seen since then, all of it!” she beamed.

He furrowed his brow. “Be careful, Doctor. Those questions are not to be answered. And asking the wrong one might get you into serious trouble.”  


So she wouldn’t get any answers from him either. Dr. Victre deflated. Though, perhaps investigations of the Inquisitors’ health might yield some answers. A quick look over the Fifth Brother’s scans didn’t immediately reveal anything, but she was hopeful for the results of the blood panel. 

“Well, yes…” she said at last, “I suppose I will have to get used to some secrecy. Just… know this, and tell the others too; I am your primary physician now. Details can be more important than you know, and I’m never at liberty to share them with anybody. So if something happens to you and you’re on some top secret assignment, know that you can tell me what I need to know to help you and I will never share it with another soul.”  


The Fifth shifted, pawing at the cotton she had taped to his arm. “Alright,” he said, clearly uncomfortable.

She smiled, waving it off. “But hopefully by the time something like that happens, _if_ it happens, I will have gained your trust. Yours and all the others’.”

He nodded again. “Let us hope.”

Lysa swallowed. The Inquisitors were certainly a stiff bunch, but this one seemed a little more open- and he had been the first one to thank her as well. As she escorted him out, she couldn’t help offering him a cup of caf before he left. It just seemed like the right thing to do, even if he refused.

“Take care, Fifth Brother,” she told him.

The Fifth did not answer the doctor’s wishes, but instead stepped out of the medical center and met the presence he sensed was waiting for him just outside.

“The Grand Inquisitor told me that you are to give him a report immediately,” the lithe Seventh Sister stepped into his view.  


“A report? On… the doctor?”  


“Apparently all current personnel on base are being evaluated. Something about whether or not they can handle the change,” she smirked.  


The Fifth Brother crossed his arms. “What change?”

“Well, apparently this place hasn’t seen any action since ohh, the Clone Wars or so. He doesn’t think some of the staff here are up for what is to come if his little pet project actually works.”  


“And you think it will?”  


The Seventh Sister tilted her head back and laughed. “How should I know, or care? All I know is that you have a report to file and I have an appointment with Doctor ‘I’ve never seen a non-human before in my life’!”

“Right…” the Fifth huffed, leaning away from his smaller counterpart. “Have fun with that.”  


* * *

Dr. Victre plopped down in her chair long after she had told herself to go to sleep. Tewbee had already powered down, and the med bay was deathly quiet. She mindlessly toyed at the camera switch between Cerastes and Crotalus, but the feed couldn’t hold her interest for long.

She rolled her chair back over to her microscope, tapping her fingers on the counter a few times before standing up and collecting a portion of one of the blood samples she had collected from an Inquisitor that day. It was just a drop, just enough for her to look at and ponder over for the next day’s appointments. She hoped that she could see the remaining new patients in the next two or three days. Simply explaining who she was or how she knew as much as she did time and time again was starting to make her weary.

To make matters worse, every single one of them was suspicious to the point on inhibiting her work. There was something so odd about all of them that Lysa just couldn’t put a finger on. She was excited of the possibilities they represented to her studies- and their physiology was incredibly engaging- but Dr. Victre was unsure of how much longer she could handle patients who treated her questions like she was an enemy spy.

They had to be hiding something. The request she had received on the day of the Inquisitors’ arrival could not be ignored. _What could they possibly want with the body of a dead Jedi? How did such a thing even come to be on Stygeon Prime?_

Wiping her heavy eyelids, she dropped her sample into a dish and put it under the scope. Lysa wasn’t even sure what she was looking for, exactly. Just any kind of explanation for what was happening on her little isolated base.

Though the cell forms were foreign to her, it only took a few minutes of observation to determine which cells was more or less analogous to human blood cells. The relative proportions of each kind even seemed normal. There was one structure, though, which looked exactly identical to its counterpart in every living thing. There were Midi-Chlorians wherever she looked. They seemed to be in incredibly high concentrations compared to the number in any human samples she had seen.

Dr. Victre fidgeted with her hair, twirling it as she was deep in observation. She drew pictures of what she saw and took notes on any interactions, until finally even her caf couldn’t keep her awake. Just a few precious hours before her own personal wake up call, she finally staggered into the elevator and down to her quarters.


	4. Chapter 3

_Whirrr-ing! Whirrr-ing!_

Lysa slowly came to, rubbing her eyes and reaching out for her glasses. The late nights she had suffered lately were beginning to take a toll on her. She had allotted herself an extra hour of sleep this morning, as it would do no good for a surgeon to be weary or sluggish at work. 

Her feet touched the cold duracrete floor as she inched herself towards the end of the bed, and ultimately into the sonic shower. From there she sluggishly slid open the door to her closet, which is where she found her routine most unfortunately stalled.

It took her a few moments to register, and she stood there dully looking over the grey and pale blue field armor within. _Perhaps there was a problem with the sanitizer, and they have sent up a spare field set_ , she thought. Still, there were actual plates of armor, and a helmet. 

Right on cue, her comm link beeped, and she answered.

“Dr. Victre. Good, you’re already awake. Report to the main hangar immediately,” the Grand Inquisitor said, his image flickering before her.  


“The Hangar?”  


“Yes. I assume you are aware where it is located,” his tone was short.  


“Well, yes. But sir, is this an off-base emergency? I am not cleared for field work...”  


The Inquisitor’s pause was short, but Lysa had already hung her head in apology for speaking out - a gesture he seemed to acknowledge.

“You will report to the main hangar immediately.”  


“Yes, sir.”  


Lysa waited for him to end the comm, and changed quickly, nearly forgetting to grab the vial of capsules from her drawer and tuck them in the inner pocket of the heavy grey uniform.

At the hangar, the Grand Inquisitor was already pacing quietly, making neat rows of perfect lines with his steps. He sensed Dr. Victre before he saw her. Her mind was clouded with anxieties. He heard her laden steps as she approached with a loaded bag of medical supplies on her back.

“My apologies, sir!” she reported, out of breath. “I didn’t know what to bring, since I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”  


_Well, she had thought to bring her own supplies. Perhaps that initiative was worth rewarding_ , the Grand Inquisitor thought.

“That’s alright.” He acknowledged her with a nod before marching to the _Sentinel-_ Class Shuttle which he had ordered two unenthusiastic stormtroopers to prep for them. “Debriefing will have to take place on site.”  


He felt her tense before she spoke.

“I would really rather know what to prepare myself for before I jump in, sir.”

“That is simply not an option, Doctor.” He was firm, but not as stern as he could have been. She was certainly on edge.  


Dr. Victre stepped inside the shuttle after her superior, secured her bag in the cargo hold, and took a seat well away from the Inquisitor.

He noted her aversion towards him. She was learning quickly, it seemed. Still, her instability was pervasive - distracting, and dangerous. He would leave her alone and see if she wouldn’t diffuse on her own. If not, he would be forced to intervene.

She took her datapad out and started reading through the various papers she had downloaded from the Holonet database. Perhaps there was something she could discern before they landed that would help her prepare. The Third, Fourth, and Eighth Brothers were still on Stygeon, as well as the Eleventh Sister. That significantly reduced the possibilities. Wherever the Inquisitorius’ second training facility was, she was reasonably certain the Ninth, Tenth, and Twelfth were located there after a series of mission failures.   


So it was the First Sister, Second Sister, Fifth Brother, or Seventh Sister. A twenty-five percent chance of encountering Pau’an, Chiss, Nylotican, or Mirialan. Looking up information on the Fifth Brother’s species would be futile, she knew. Mirialans were common on the Core Worlds where she grew up, so she was most familiar with the Seventh Sister’s anatomy. And with the Grand Inquisitor there, he could perhaps fill in some of the gaps in her Pau’an knowledge.

She reasoned that the most productive use of her time would be to start by reading information on the Chiss. There was actually an abundance of data, which fascinated her. It appeared the Chiss had an intimate connection with the Empire, and she had even heard rumors of a Chiss Grand Admiral. Their oxygen reactions were of particular biochemical interest. One day she resolved to extract some bone marrow and examine their erythropoietin, or whatever analogous cytokine they had in its place.

She yawned, breaking her own concentration. Her weariness was starting to set in once more, it seemed. Only then did she look up to see the Grand Inquisitor’s shadowy form watching her from the port side of shuttle. His eyes glowed yellow, only turning away after he realized he had been spotted.

“May I know how much longer until we reach our destination?” she called across the absurdly large space.  


The Grand Inquisitor’s eyes narrowed as he approached. There was likely no harm in that. It wasn’t as though she could determine their destination from the travel time alone. 

“Eight more hours,” he said, taking a seat across from her. She seemed to have calmed considerably.

“A nearby system, then,” she decided, cautiously unstrapping herself from her seat and turning on her side to lay across a row of them. “Is it a highly populated planet? Felucia? Mandalore? Or even as far as Mon Cala, or Lothal? These shuttles are so fast...”  


He tensed his lip. She was good. “Not quite that fast.”

“Ah, Felucia then.”  


“I told you, debriefing will take place on site,” he warned her. “You don’t have the clearance to know our destination. Even the pilots are unaware of our bearing. The nav computer was set without their input.”  


“Alright, alright. But as soon as we land on the planet, I’m probably going to have a good idea where we are. I hope that isn’t a problem,” she sighed, crossing her arms on her chest.  


“I have no doubt that you will,” he responded, “you are a keen observer, and have good intuition.”  


Dr. Victre’s ears perked at the compliment. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

He huffed in response, and she could tell that the conversation had ended. She rolled onto her side, facing away from him, in an attempt to doze. The Inquisitor continued to watch her from the other side of the aisle. She could practically feel his eyes on her. Soon, she gave up her attempts, and sat up.

“You know-”  


“-Know what?” he interrupted.  


Victre tried not to let her lack of rest make her irritable. “I found some papers that might be of use in understanding the physiology of your species.”

The Grand Inquisitor was not one for idle conversation. He locked eyes with her until she continued.

“Well, the thing is, all of the papers are in your native language. Utapese, that is. Since we have several hours before we land, perhaps you might take a look for me? A translation would go a long way in reducing the number of tests I have to run on you, and the First Sister.”  


He paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. “I will have a look,” he finally conceded.

“Great! This will help me tremendously, I’ve starting to build up my own resource library! You know, it would be good to have all of these papers on hand, should we be taken offline. I hear you’ve got big plans for the Spire!” she beamed.

His face twisted. “Who told you that, Doctor?”

“Ohh, I’m sorry, it was just a rumor. Some troopers said you were renovating the lower levels. Personally, I’d be glad for the base to liven up a bit. Things have been getting much more interesting ever since you arrived with the rest of the Inquisitors. My work sure seems a lot more fulfilling.”  


Lysa took a new seat next to the Inquisitor, handing him her datapad.

He looked over her for a moment before taking it. “These troopers talk too much. Secrecy is of utmost importance in our work.” 

“Right well, none of us get off base much. I mean word may spread, but it certainly will never leave Stygeon!”  


“You _are_ naive,” he grumbled, looking over the papers she had collected. The archive marks made his stomach twist. He looked up abruptly. “Where did you get these?”

“Those?” She shrugged. “Just a very thorough literature source for anything related to Pau’an biology. Is something wrong?”  


He did his best to calm the simmering anger inside of him. “No, nothing wrong, but if you want me to translate these, I’m going to need some space!” he hissed.

“R-right...” Dr. Victre stood, moving down half a row. The distance was ridiculous, really, but once she reached an ‘acceptable’ seat, the Pau’an turned his agitated gaze away from her and back towards the datapad. His attentions occupied, it wasn’t long before she could comfortably lay down and get some rest.  


She awoke with a headache, realizing she had forgotten to take of her glasses, which were now baring deep into her temples. She made a few quick adjustments before hearing the Grand Inquisitor loudly scolding a crew member. No, not a crew member, but a holo.

She quickly closed her eyes, pretending to be at rest once more. The Grand Inquisitor’s boots clipped the floor as he paced with unusual ferocity. She listened closely to try and discern who he was communicating with.

“No, for the last time-” he growled, his tone much more fierce than normal, “-we are in hyperspace! There is no way for us to get there faster. _You_ were the one who sprang the trap prematurely, and _you_ will be the one to suffer the consequences should these months of careful planning end in failure!”  


“Well I don’t know how long she has left, but she’s wailing like she’s dying and it’s... attracting attention.”   


Victre tilted her head as much as she dared. She thought she recognized the dark, usually spiteful voice of the Seventh Sister. It would make sense, she was one of her potential candidates, but there was something off about the situation.

“Then find a remote location and activate your beacon there. We will find you, and you will keep her alive and alert until Dr. Victre arrives. Understood?”  


“But sir, I do not know if she w-”  


“Am I understood?” the Grand Inquisitor repeated, teeth grating together.  


Finally, the Mirialan broke. “Yes, sir.” she resigned, ending the comm.

Victre heard the Inquisitor’s deep sigh, but still flinched when he called her name from less than an arm’s reach away. When he wanted to be, he could be more silent than a thieving Tooka, she had learned through personal experience.

“Sir!” she gasped as she fumbled to right herself. Her heart pounded as she feared a reprisal for her active eavesdropping. 

No punishment came this time, only a handful of _flimsies_ and her datapad pushed back into her hands. 

“Wha...” she stammered. She had only known field scientists to use actual flimsy, but even that was back in her university days. Back when she was just Lysa, no Dr. attached surname.  


“Your translations.” the Inquisitor explained, irritated that it even needed stating. “Though if you continue to need such assistance, I will attach a protocol droid to your unit. I do not have the time for this, nor does my occupation encompass such base functions.”  


“Of course- yes sir!” She bowed her head to avoid his intense stare and let her gaze fall to his immaculately hand-written notes. “I will certainly bear that in mind for the future.”  


He seemed to nod in approval at her acceptance. His heels tapped firmly together and he turned, walking for the entrance to the shuttle’s lower levels. “I will be below, and it would be best for you if you would avoid disturbing me,” he said as he walked off.

Dr. Victre had no plans to interrupt him. Really, she was still looking for where all the torn out flimsy and ink had come from.

* * *

_Tropical climate, vibrantly colored colossal fungal flora, bioluminescent forms predominating a largely shaded understory... Felucia_. Dr. Victre couldn’t help but smirk at her lucky guess.

“Quickly now,” the Grand Inquisitor ushered the gawking biologist along. Her exuberance was palpable, but they had an urgent mission to complete. If the Seventh Sister hadn’t completely botched it yet. 

Every slight movement of the forest, each cursed insect or avian that flew their way, nearly every single new fungus they came across, the doctor had to be reminded to keep moving. 

“A _Mycomicante giganteus_!” she suddenly exclaimed, raising her datapad to record images. “I never thought I’d get to see one outside of the floral conservatory on Corellia!”  


“Put that away,” he huffed, listening through the idle whistles and chatter of the nearby animal life for any signs of danger.  


Victre followed along, quickly noting down as much as possible as she slowly slipped her datapad back into her loaded bag, which would have weighed her down considerably if she weren’t experiencing absolute glee at the way her footprints in the loamy soil lit up with the pressure from her stride.

“You don’t think this is prime territory for Rancor, do you?” she asked, ever so slightly winded from her exertions.  


The Grand Inquisitor’s eyes rolled back. While he prided himself on his control most of the time, her lack of regard for the severity of their situation was truly grating. “I would not have brought you this way if I did.”

“Ohh. Pity.” Her shoulders slumped, and she shifted to offset the weight on them.  


His lips lifted in a snarl, but Victre would not notice from several steps behind him. He visually checked his peripherals one more time, before chancing a glance down on his tracker for the Seventh Sister’s beacon.

A deep roaring sound shook the area, and he felt the surge in Victre’s heart rate before she leapt up to his side, shaking, as she reached for her blaster. He nearly stopped her, not keen on letting someone so nervous handle a weapon, but her hands - she was reaching for her pocket. She... did not seem to possess a weapon at all. That would have to be addressed some other time.

He drew his saber from his back, just in case. He was certain the sound was of their target, not a Rancor, but it never hurt to be safe. The blade illuminated with a fierce hiss, glowing brighter than even the forest around them.

Dr. Victre’s eyes went wide, but her breathing seemed to still some. “Is that... a lightsaber?”

Well, she would have seen one eventually. He pressed on. The beacon was close, and if they could hear the Ithorian, they should be within visual range relatively quickly, he reasoned. _Also, if we can hear her, she must still be alive_.

“Yes, it is,” he finally answered. It seemed the threat of danger had increased her abilities to keep up.  


“Ohh.” Victre swallowed her next thought. She could swear only Jedi carried lightsabers, but she knew in the Empire talking about such things was highly discouraged.

She heard the low frequency sound once again, and it shook the ground beneath her feet. It sounded different than before, almost - mournful. She felt okay, and her breathing was under control. Something about being next to someone with a lightsaber was very reassuring. She released the sweaty vial she had been palming in her uniform pocket. The Inquisitor seemed rather calm about their predicament, at least. She took that as a good sign.

Less than an hour of walking later, the howling noise was getting too much for her to bear, and she was clutching her ears with both hands. She nearly plowed into the Inquisitor as he stopped abruptly in his tracks. She had seen him turning down the intensity of his ear covers as they walked. In fact, she had almost asked him if he had another pair on hand.

“You wanted to know why you were being brought into the field?” he seemed unaware of his own shouting.  


“ _Yes_!” Victre cried back, her whole body feeling the vibrations passing through her.   


He stepped aside from the path, motioning to an unstable looking old farmhouse. “Your patient lies within.”

He was grinning, and she decided she did not trust that. His face was almost glowing a more intense red than usual, and he seemed on the verge of excitement. 

Dr. Victre cautiously stepped forward, cringing at the way the wooden planks beneath her feet gave. She could not hear them squeak over the overbearing low tones which rattled her insides. She could scarcely see without the light of the Inquisitor’s saber, but soon she spotted the reflective red panels of the Seventh Sister’s armor. And next to her, the source of the thunderous sounds.

An Ithorian, she recognized immediately. She had heard of their impressive noise making capabilities, but they were so peaceful, they rarely ever spoke up. Of course, this one seemed to be in massive distress. It - her - she noticed was clutching at a swollen abdomen. The way her legs were propped against the dusty floorboards, the slime oozing from the creature’s soaked garments... It did not take long for Victre to know exactly what was going on, and she was cold with dread.

The Inquisitors circled like predators on a hunt, the Grand Inquisitor’s blade dancing just centimeters above the floor. He could feel the fear of his prey, and no doubt, the Ithorian’s awareness to the force allowed it to feel his anticipation too.

“Well, Dr. Victre,” he said, “I believe it is time you got to work.”


	5. Chapter 4

The hardest part was convincing the frightened Ithorian woman to trust her. Dr. Victre’s head throbbed from the intense vocalizations, a debilitating pain that prevented her from coherent thoughts. It didn’t help that the farmhouse was damp and dark with rot, and her main source of illumination was a weapon in the hands of someone she scarcely recognized. 

“She _needs_ a medcenter! I’ve never done anything like this!” ” Victre had tried to declare, but the Grand Inquisitor dismissed those thoughts from her head with a wave of his hand.

“She does not need to go to a medcenter,” he had hummed, his words resonating deep within her.  


Dr. Victre repeated the words back, numbly, “She... does not need to go to a medcenter...”   


His grin, the sharp rows of pointed teeth, and his piercing yellow eyes had stayed in her mind and her hands worked mechanically to dig through her back for supplies. Had he been chastising the young Mirialan for her mistakes behind her, she couldn’t have noticed. It felt as though all eyes were on her.

All Victre could hear was her own breathing, deep passes in and out, just as her doctor told her. The Ithorian seemed repelled by her. She tried explaining that she was a doctor, but to no avail. Not one word of Basic seemed to have any meaning to her.

_Sedative_. Her hands shook, looking for the right injection. _Ithorian. Ithorian. Peaceful. Two mouths. Mammalian._ She grabbed for the mammalian serum, estimating a dose appropriate for herself would be safe for taking the edge off of this giant’s pain. She hoped it would be, anyways.

After the woman had been somewhat subdued, Victre’s thoughts became much clearer. Once she realized Victre’s intent and decided to cooperate, the doctor’s work had gotten significantly easier.

Dr. Victre had wavered once or twice. She would have been much more comfortable working in the lab with her own equipment, with the ability to perform scans and sterilize the environment. With more time or information, this could have been a much less risky task. She couldn’t fathom why the Ithorian could not have been brought to Stygeon. And something about this seemed somewhat... suspect. The garb she had removed from the Ithorian had been expensive, heavy, regal. Then, there was the matter of the ‘trap’ that was mentioned on the holocall during their flight. _No, the Grand Inquisitor brought me here because he has confidence in my abilities,_ she told herself _, he is testing me._

It would explain the secrecy, at least. And his sly grin. The Seventh Sister had been the one to give Victre a rather off-key warning about staff being cut on base if the Inquisitor deemed them too incompetent for whatever the base’s new purpose would be. Her fervor gave her efficiency as she had never known. This job was just starting to give her life purpose and meaning, she couldn’t lose it. She would not let herself fail. 

Hours later, Victre found herself covered in mammalian slime and blood, clutching the squealing, legless form of an Ithorian pupa. She sat back exhausted on her haunches, wiping the sweat off her face as best as she could with her shoulder. The humidity of the room fogged her glasses, but there was nothing she could do about that. It seemed the ringing of her strained eardrums was starting to subside. She was alright, the fatigue was setting in, but other than that, she felt... warm. Her patient, however, seemed considerably worse off. 

Then, the Seventh Sister approached. 

“You don’t... happen to have any water, do you?” Victre breathed heavily. The delirium of dehydration was starting to take hold, but there was also the matter of cleaning herself off. Something told her that a sonic was not going to clear her of that mess.  


The slender Mirialan tilted her head with a savage grin, tracing a finger over her own chin before stretching out her hands for the newborn.

“No, I don’t. But I can take the little one while you go look for some...”  


Victre looked back towards the exhausted Ithorian. “But shouldn’t she-”

“-My my doctor,” the Seventh Sister interrupted, “I thought you knew all there was to know about ‘alien’ species. Don’t you know that Ithorians won’t touch anything that is stained with blood?”  


She immediately put her head down in response. “I don’t know everything, I’m just good at making inferences... About biology, not even that kind of thing.”

“Well no matter, just hand over the kid and find yourself some water.” The Seventh said, more assertively this time.  


Lysa handed over the pupa, but one more look at the state of the Ithorian mother filled her with dread. “Thank you but, I think I need to stay here with her. I will do my best with what I have here, but I’m running out of - I’m not this kind of doctor, and I don’t have the right supplies to help. She’s going to need to get to a medcenter, and quickly. Besides, it’s probably dangerous for me to wander alone out here...”

The Seventh Sister rolled her eyes and was already beginning to walk towards the Grand Inquisitor with the newborn. They stepped away, leaving Victre in darkness with the barely-conscious Ithorian.

As soon as she was out of the human’s limited earshot, the Seventh let out a laugh, one that was not reciprocated by her superior.

“Do not think that because this mission was completed in spite of your mistakes that you will not be punished for them,” he snapped.  


“Ohh it’s not that,” she recovered, though her lips were still curled upwards in amusement. “It’s the doctor, she really thinks - she _still_ thinks she’s doing the right thing! That she’s saving lives and making a difference!”  


“By servicing the Empire, she is. She is simply a tool to restore order to the galaxy... A tool that restores the function of the other parts and pieces that make up our order. And sometimes, erases their mistakes when they place an important assignment in jeopardy.” He let his displeasure show.  


The Seventh nearly let her eyes roll back. As if any of them believed that rhetoric. Perhaps the Grand Inquisitor wanted to believe he had a purpose, but she doubted he was actually stupid enough to think he was doing this for the good of the galaxy. She thought better than to point that out, however.

“Not that it matters. You don’t sense anything from it either, do you?”  


The Grand Inquisitor looked over the squirming, whining pile of slime in the Seventh Sister’s arms, his lip curled in disgust. A disappointing waste of effort. “No. I don’t. And because of your public blunder, we now have evidence that must be cleared. The adult is dying, she will not be a problem. Perhaps the infant can find a purpose in the Young Futures Program.”

“As if I needed to be told what to do...”  


Her insubordination was as tiresome as it was irritating, but this endeavor had already wasted too much of his time. 

“I will take Dr. Victre, you will sort this out, and if you want to minimize the amount of time you spend in Mustafar for this...” he let the words ring out, taking satisfaction in the way her eyes opened just a little bit wider from the fear, “I suggest you do it quietly.”  


His gaze wandered back inside the shadowy interior of the old farmhouse, where he saw Victre digging through her supply bag frantically, applying some other drug to the dying Ithorian woman.

“And what are you going to tell her?” the Seventh asked, following his shift in attention.  


“That you are transporting them both to a facility on the far side of the province. That they will be taken care of and are no longer in need of her assistance.”  


“Ha,” she laughed again, “she must be a real idiot to believe something like that.”  


The Grand Inquisitor exhaled, crossing his arms. “It _is_ fortunate for her that she was not born strong with the force. She would have made an excellent Jedi. And easy prey.”

“A Jedi? No, too naive. To ready to believe whatever she’s told. A Jedi would never fall for this,” she sneered.

His brow quirked, but he waited for her to walk away from his glare to quietly ask, “is that what you think?”

* * *

The hike back to the shuttle was nearly unbearable. It wasn’t just that the doctor reeked of mammalian fluids, nor was it her slow pace from her lack of hydration. Those were unfortunate, but circumstances she could not address. No, it was her exuberance that made him truly miserable.

“Truly, I’ve never done anything like that before. I mean, it felt really good, when it was done. I was the first person to ever greet that little Ithorian when they came into the world, even if I had no idea what I was doing. Do you do things like this often? In the field, I mean...” Victre rambled.  


“Be quiet.” he said, firmly. “Unless you don’t want me to hear any potential danger.”  


That silenced her quickly. Victre could tell his mood had soured considerably since his encounter with the Seventh Sister. Her mind drifted back to her patients. _The pupa was healthy enough. The mother though._ She could only hope she was alright. She had asked to go with the Seventh in escorting them to a medcenter. Perhaps she could have learned more about the affects of the drugs she had administered, or anything about Ithorian childbirth that would help for next time. The Inquisitor, of course, had swiftly denied that request.

The silence only made her miserable. All she could think about was the dryness of her mouth and the shallowness of her panting. The sight of the _Sentinel_ -class Shuttle above the caps of the towering megamycophyta fungi and the promise of the refresher within it was the only thing that could quicken her step. She hauled her way up the loading ramp, staying only just respectfully behind her superior. Dropping the overburdened bag from her aching shoulders brought a sweet tingling sensation at the base of her neck. 

After the best sonic shower of her life, she still smelled a bit stale, but to be rid of the slime and blood was a large improvement. She changed into a spare crewman’s uniform that was left onboard, and settled in to a seat in the empty holding deck. _The Inquisitor must have gone below again_ , she thought. Without anyone to talk to, not even her usual droid company, idleness set in quickly.

Then, she remembered the translations. She dug eagerly for the pages and pages of flimsy, and soon she became lost. There was so much that she would never have known - adaptations, physiology, visual displays. She cursed herself for not having a pen of her own to take notes in the margins. There was one particular passage that stood out though, and something about it seemed odd. Victre resolved to ask him about it, whenever he returned from below.

It was nearly halfway through the flight before she got the chance.

The Grand Inquisitor felt somewhat refreshed after his extensive time meditating, but not replenished enough to deal with the sight of Victre digging through his translations of the papers he had given her. He nearly sank back down below, but it was too late. She had looked up and made eye contact with him, and so he completed his ascension. 

“Ah, Inquisitor, sir! I wanted to thank you on the thoroughness of your notations!”  


_Still beaming_ , he noticed. Truly, she would have been at home in the library her documents had been... liberated from. He said nothing.

“I wanted to ask you a question, though... I noticed on page five,” she dug through the loose flimsy, and the Inquisitor felt dread rising in his stomach. “There’s a passage about the inheritance of clan markings, and I was curious, are you aware, or is it possible even, given the resemblance of your markings, I mean, that you are related to the First Sister?”  


There it was. He couldn’t help but suck in a hard breath. “It _is_ possible.”

“Well! I could, if you wanted, of course... It looks like these are passed down male family lines. I could perform a nuclear DNA analysis and find out how closely you are related. Personally, I would love to, but I realize I’d be using the base’s resources and that’s not really -”  


She prattled on, but he raised his hand to silence her. “That won’t be necessary, doctor. Focus your attentions elsewhere.”

Victre nodded, letting her head drop back to his notes.

_Good_ , he thought, _she could be shaped into a useful tool yet_.

He let the silence hang in the air just a bit longer. “When we return to Stygeon Prime, schedule those physicals that we talked about earlier. You said they could be used to analyze improvements in performance?”

She looked up and nodded eagerly for him. “The stress and condition physicals? Certainly! I will look through everyone’s schedules and have appointments made at earliest convenience!”

He folded his arms behind his back and straightened his spine in satisfaction. “Good. I will look forward to seeing those results. And doctor?”

“Yes?”  


“You did a fine job today. But next time we are out in the field, you _will_ carry your blaster.”  


Victre swallowed as she nodded. He walked towards the cabin at the front of the ship, but his words were still ringing in her mind. 

_Next time_.


	6. Chapter 5

Despite all his training, his breath was still short and shallow. It echoed loudly in the dark, secluded room. The children huddled closely around him while blaster fire and shouts of agony sounded out, hardly muffled by the great stone doors. He felt it, as much as he attempted to suppress the emotion, it filled his stomach until he was ready to vomit. He had faced danger before, but nothing like this. The fear from without and within was palpable, and he was succumbing to it.

Sluggishly, he turned to Tsiri. She seemed more still than he was, and he was proud of her. The young ones were drawn to her calm demeanor, but below the surface he sensed her malaise. She hadn’t witnessed the things that he had. She had no reason to question her faith. He had been glad for that, until then.

Eight hours later the air was thinning. The children had many complaints. He tended to them as best as he could, but he had no water, no food. Still, they persisted. _Patience_ , he told himself. Their demands were shrill torment to his ears. He knew that they would be discovered if they continued to sound. He fidgeted, his feet sweating in his boots. Thoughts of rushing out with Tsiri and taking their chances clouded his mind, and he was slower to dismiss them every time.

He gripped his lightsaber tight in his sweating hands. The weapon gave him fortitude, which he was desperate for. It was likely he would already be labelled a coward for not joining the fight, but he would maintain that it was his sovereign duty to protect the younglings at all costs. From the sounds of battle outside, hiding was the safest course of action; despite the way it grated his nerves.

With a heavy sigh, he sank to his knees, unsure of how to proceed. He had hardly been prepared for a massacre of this scale, but he had been taught how to clear his mind. He adjusted his ear covers until the only sounds he could hear were his own breaths and the pounding of his heart. Should a youngling try to contact him, he would be unreachable, but he needed to meditate.

The fear would not leave him. Each time he delved into his thoughts, he only saw death. Tsiri, lying cold on the floor, surrounded by the bodies of those he had sworn to protect. The agony of loss made him feel hollow. 

“Guard?” Tsiri asked, tapping him on the shoulder.  


It pained him for her to call him that, but he had resigned to be nameless to the masses of Jedi long before she was born. In front of the younglings, they had no choice but to be formal. He dialed back his silencers.

“Yes, young one?”  


Her eyes were stuck wide open, doll-like. “Is it wrong to hide?”  


_That wasn’t right. That wasn’t what she had said._

“Would you have preferred to fight?” he responded. 

She didn’t look like that anymore. Soft and small with silvery eyes. He reached a hand out to her and they flashed with the sinister glow he had grown accustomed to.

“To fight... or to die?”

He shook his head violently. “Don’t say that. We’re both alive because of me!” he hissed.

She paused for a long time, and he felt sick. Finally she asked him, “Would you have preferred to die?”  


 _It wasn’t right. She had not said that_. But the sudden tremor against the door was. He felt the tremble in his bones as he ignited both ends of his lightsaber and braced with Tsiri and the others behind him. The dust that fell from the ceiling made him cough through his mask. 

Eight hours in hiding, and it had only taken the enemy five blasts to destroy the door. Some of the younglings died in the rubble. He didn’t remember their faces. They were the lucky ones. Vaguely he heard the muffled voices of clones speaking through their painted helmets. He deflected their sizzling blaster shots one by one, but they never stopped. 

Blast after blast, each one whirring too close as it passed by. His attention wandered, and finally he stopped to see where the blasts had gone.

There was Tsiri, still standing, riddled with scorch marks over her robes.

He ripped off his mask. They were alone, surrounded by blackness that was thick enough to make her glow. He looked at her again and she was grown, her robes exchanged for sleek black armor, but still she bled.

“Father...” her voice cracked, and he ran to her.  


“Tsiri,” he muttered as he held her in shaking hands, his breath catching in his throat.

Suddenly her grip was tight on his arm, and she locked eyes with him. She hissed through a sardonic grin.

“ _Why couldn’t you let me die a hero_?”  


* * *

The Grand Inquisitor woke, chest heaving. Even in the privacy of his own quarters, he would not allow himself more than a moment of anguish before banishing all thoughts of his nightmare. Still, he had to admit that waking in such a way made him sharper for the rest of the day. It would suit him, as he had training that morning.

He closed his eyes for a moment, reaching out. If there was any benefit to the Inquisitorius, it was that everyone tended to mind only their own matters. As with the rest of the Empire, they were mostly too preoccupied with their own advancement to be meddling in the early morning brooding of their superior. He was, however, impressed with how many of them were awake at such an hour. It seemed they were restless. Vying for his position, no doubt.

He glanced at his data pad. An hour before the wake up call. The Inquisitor looked over his schedule for the day, and his lips curled. Sparring practice would do nicely to take the edge off his frustrations. It would require a cool head, and all the concentration he could spare - perfect for removing the nasty reminders of his previous life from the forefront of his mind. Until then, he idled, on edge.

Finally, it was time. He picked at the creases of his matte black training uniform. Despite the flexibility and breathability of the design, it stuck too close to his frame for comfort. He tugged the stretchy fabric around his throat, but he still felt stifled. Tsiri’s words hung in his mind, and when he closed his eyes, he saw the burned in images of the younglings. The younglings he had sworn to protect.

He entered the arena, a darkened place lit only by the soft glow of panels from the walls. It occupied a space that had once been a cell block, and though it was mostly cleared, there were still remnants of walls, benches, and other durasteel obstacles that could be used to his advantage. His opponent entered from the other side of the block. It was the acrobatic and wily youth of the Inquisitorius, the Eighth Brother.

He was arrogant, uncouth. Much like the monster he had faced down on the ruins of the Jedi Temple, only that being was far, far more skilled than this gangly creature. He had earned his right to be overconfident. 

The Eighth Brother was, as he understood, a Terrelian Jango Jumper, though it was odd to see one without a mask. If he remembered correctly, it was the Fourth Brother who had captured him before he was of age to create his own mask. Perhaps that was why he preferred to hide his face behind a helmet. Sparring, however, was a no-armor sport. If he was going to hone the skills of the less experienced members of his unit, he had to be able to follow their lines and critique their forms. Armor would only serve to obscure their errors, and hasten their demise.

After all the Grand Inquisitor’s anticipation for the duel, his opponent looked over him, not with fear or anger, but with a hint of routine boredom. He felt heat rise at the back of his throat. His hand twisted hungrily on the handle of his lightsaber as he ignited the blade and pulled it to his chest impatiently.

Perhaps the younger Inquisitor had sensed his change in attitude. The Grand Inquisitor watched the Eighth Brother’s golden eyes narrow as he too lifted his lightsaber in a quick arc to his chest.

An arc which did not pause. The Grand Inquisitor reacted instantaneously as the Eighth passed sloppily through the dueling pose to a strike without stopping, in a vain attempt to catch him off guard. Such an attempt might have worked, had it not been for the circumstances of his awakening. Their blades met, and the Grand Inquisitor pushed his opponent back before he had an opportunity to lash out at his exposed midsection.   


Having been knocked back, the Eighth paused to regain his balance. _Form IV_ , the Grand Inquisitor noted. Not a bad choice for someone already so athletic. Unfortunately for the Eighth, he had never mastered the forms under the leadership of the Jedi as the Grand Inquisitor had. It was a luxury he would never be afforded. 

 _The Jedi_. The Grand Inquisitor’s lip curled in a rare display of outrage, placing extra power behind his swings. The more force he played on his opponent, the less likely he was to make it off the ground. The Grand Inquisitor was nimble, and could navigate the surrounding obstacles with ease, but not so much ease as a Terrelian Jango Jumper. He could not afford to give up the high ground. He cooled his thoughts, focusing on his objective.

Their blades clashed with a savage hiss again and again, the Grand Inquisitor keeping his left arm tucked behind his back, just in case an opening presented itself. The Eighth Brother quickly struck high, and then abruptly shifted momentum to strike low, and finally the Grand Inquisitor ignited the second blade of his saber to block without shifting his body. He turned the blade to spin, so that the Eighth brother’s blade would no longer pin his down. He pushed with the rounded hilt of his blade, knocking his opponent directly in the jaw.

The Eighth brother caught his balance with his hind foot, and leapt forward. Despite the Grand Inquisitor’s best efforts, he had become airborne. From there, it was a chase backwards over the debris that scattered the training arena. The Grand Inquisitor was hyper aware of his surroundings, checking his peripherals, listening for the echoes of their conflict to determine what lay behind him. He jumped back behind an obstacle, and then ducked as the Eighth Brother’s blade whirred overhead.

Tossing his blade was a foolish maneuver, leaving the Grand Inquisitor a few precious moments to leap free of his confinement and kick at the Eighth brother’s gut before dodging the blade’s return. Only he misjudged the angle of his dodge, and ended up with an elbow to the nose. 

The pain dulled his concentration some. He raised his blade to meet the bright red streak moving down above him. Just like Lord Vader’s freshly minted lightsaber. The mechanical monstrosity he had faced down days after the fall of the Jedi Order. His last stand at the Temple. To protect what remained of the younglings, and Tsiri. 

He growled under his breath, angling his shoulders, shifting his stance. Though it often paid to be calculated, he had found his anger could give him strength. After all, the Eighth Brother’s prey were not likely to be so collected. 

He pressed upward into the Eighth’s blade until their weapons abruptly broke free from one another. The Eighth stumbled back, just as he had done before, and prepared himself to jump. Only this time, the Grand Inquisitor had anticipated such an action. His left arm, tucked firmly behind his back, came free. He pressed forward in the force, with all his frustration backing him, right as the Eighth Brother had leapt into the air.

The Terrelian Jango Jumper’s lightweight frame flew back with greater speed than even the Grand Inquisitor had anticipated. His momentum stopped unexpectedly, as his lower body met with a durasteel railing far from where the Grand Inquisitor thought he would land. The crunch made him cringe, as did the yelp of pain that followed. Just from the angle he was laying at, the Grand Inquisitor knew that he had broken something. 

He took deep breaths, banishing the emotions that had led him to make such a miscalculation. The training session was over, and there was no need to rub the Eighth Brother’s nose in his mistakes. The corrections would come later. The Grand Inquisitor took two intrepid steps toward the injured Inquisitor, then abruptly stopped and turned around. He went into the hallway to call for a courier. 

The wounds of the Jedi were still fresh in his mind. The last thing he needed or wanted to see was that damned doctor with her nose deep into the Order’s archives. He would have to put a stop to her inquiries once and for all, as soon as she was finished with her latest patient. 

He took one last look at the Eighth Brother as he was carried away, and their eyes met once more. This time, they were full of malice.


End file.
